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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685943">Star Trek Discovery: Penitent's Walk</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Komodo13/pseuds/Komodo13'>Komodo13</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: Short Treks (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure, Bisexual Female Character, Bonding, Catastrophe, Disasters, Gen, Science Fiction, Starship Enterprise (Star Trek), Teamwork, Thriller, USS Discovery (Star Trek), World War II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 16:49:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,348</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685943</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Komodo13/pseuds/Komodo13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After her disastrous encounter with the tribbles, Lynne Lucero is demoted and exiled to a lonely starbase. Depressed and demoralized, she accepts this punishment for her failure. However, when a catastrophic systems breakdown threatens a nearby planet with extinction, Lucero must face the challenge and rely on the help of a group of visiting bridge officers from the USS Discovery to try and stop a worldwide cataclysm.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>1) There's no real way this works in the Discovery timeline. I notionally set it some time between the last few scenes of "Will You Take My Hand," but even then there are some continuity problems. Just go with it.</p><p>2) The character named EunLim was referred to as "Osnullus" in previous stories as per the Discovery promo material. However since writing those stories, CBS has acknowledged that"Osnullus" is actually the species name and not the character name. The character as of now is simply referred to as "Osnullus Bridge Officer." Of course, this could be fixed if Discovery ever bothered to get to know the bridge crew, but I guess that task is left to fanfic writers :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The <em>Enterprise</em> screamed as her engines, throbbing to the red-line and bleeding energy, punched a hole in reality and slid through warp-space. On the main viewer, the usual glittering warp-tunnel effect had turned redder and redder as the great ship edged closer to speeds never before encountered by man.</p><p>Leaning forward in his command chair in the center of a bridge that was silent except for the chirping of the systems and the heavy drone of the laboring warp engines, Captain Christopher Pike knew it still wasn’t enough.</p><p>“ETA, Mr. Miles?” He asked, breaking the tense quasi-silence. His voice had become brittle.</p><p>“Sixteen standard minutes, sir,” the young helmsman with the slightly retro hairstyle answered tightly. He sounded, to Pike, like a kid fessing up to an angry parent.



</p><p>“That’s not soon enough,” Pike said reproachfully. “Lieutenant Park, I need you to find a faster route to Hazarian system.”</p><p>The willowy officer turned and dipped her head slightly. Her milky complexion flushed gently at her cheeks. “Captain, we’re on the most direct course. There are almost no gravimetric or navigational obstacles…we’re on practically a straight line…” She trailed off, coloring some more.</p><p>“All right,” Pike said quietly. He sat back in his chair and keyed the intercom switch on the armrest panel.</p><p><em>“Engineering here,”</em> Chief Louvier’s accented voice filtered through the bridge speakers.</p><p>“Chief, you have to give us more speed. Whatever it takes, you need to squeeze it out of those engines.” Out of the corner of his eye he caught Number One cock her head disapprovingly, but she said nothing, and he didn’t acknowledge it.</p><p>
  <em>“With all due respect sir, we’re at warp thirteen-point-two. That’s already faster than anything is supposed to be able go.”</em>
</p><p>Pike felt an irrational flash of anger. “I don’t care about what is ‘supposed’ to be, Chief. I’m concerned with the environmental cataclysm that will occur is we don’t get to Hazarian Prime quickly enough. I’m concerned about the hundreds of millions that will die if we don’t get there inside of ten minutes. Get me more power, Pike out.” He cut the line more aggressively than he’d intended.</p><p>This time, Number One didn’t hold back. “Chief knows the stakes, Captain,” she admonished gently.</p><p>“I’m sure he does,” Pike said gravely, “but that doesn’t change the facts any. Lynne is counting on us. We’re the only hope she has.”</p><p>“Captain,” Lieutenant Spock’s firm, dispassionate voice was almost a relief in the tension-wracked bridge. “We have Hazarian Station on the furthest edge of our sensors. It appears to be falling through the planet’s mesosphere and will be entering the stratosphere in approximately two minutes.</p><p>Pike felt an ice-cold blade stab deeply into the pit of his stomach. “Margin of error, Mr. Spock?”</p><p>“Insignificant, Captain.”</p><p>Pike could only stare at the light show on the viewscreen, stunned by the reality behind Spock’s words.</p><p>“Chris,” Number One said quietly, “we can’t get there in time.”</p><p>He turned to argue with her, but the words weren’t there. Her blue eyes just barely betrayed the pain she must have been feeling. Lynne Lucero had been her mentee as much anyone.</p><p>“We can’t change the laws of physics.”</p><p>Pike wanted to clamp his eyes shut, dig the heels of his hands into them, do anything to blot out the world and the ugly reality it held. He didn’t, of course. When you sat in the center seat, you forfeit the right to any signs of weakness or uncertainty. Instead, he straightened up and took a ragged breath.</p><p>“Mr. Spock,” he said slowly. “I’ll need you to start preparing to direct disaster relief efforts.”</p><p>“Aye sir.”</p><p>“Prepare for a mass-casualty event rolling into a terrestrial extinction-level phenomenon.”</p><p>Spock bowed his head to show his understanding. Around him, the bridge crew exchanged stricken looks. All of them, in their own way, saw the same image of their former crewmate plummeting to the planet’s surface, alone atop the massive reactor that would annihilate the world.</p><p><em>I’m so sorry, Lynne…</em>Pike thought.</p><p>Starfleet is a promise. But not all promises can be kept.</p><p>A captain can’t flinch in the face of destruction or death, regardless of who it touches, so Pike kept his gaze fixed on the strobing viewscreen as he offered her a prayer dredged up from childhood memories, and his ship raced to its rendezvous with cataclysm.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Life on Elba</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lynne Lucero, Commander Starfleet, took a calming breath and tugged at the hem of her uniform blouse. “Administrator Z’Dar,” she said slowly, then remembered to smile. It wasn’t very convincing—she felt its tightness on her face—but it would help offset the considerable reputation she had for being…well, <em>unfriendly </em>would be the kinder way to describe it. Besides, the Zerothians hadn’t had enough experience with humans to discern the finer points of their expressions. </p><p>“Administrator Z’Dar,” she said with forced geniality, “I really think you should review these models I’ve made of the solar activity. After all, the commerce of this station…”</p><p>The tall (even by Zerothian standards) station administrator merely raised one willowy arm in a silencing gesture. Though humanoid with similar faces to humans, the inhabitants of the Zeroth system had long, birdlike bodies and stood over two meters tall. Their stature along with their cultural dress of long, flowing robes, tended to give them a naturally haughty countenance—something they collectively leaned into as a culture.</p><p>It didn’t help that Lucero was short to begin with, at least by human standards.</p><p>“Commander, I thank you for your usual thoroughness, but I assure you that is quite unnecessary.” Zerothians had voices like cardboard being folded, and while Lucero respected the panoply of cultures that comprised the Federation, the Zerothians’ voices just increased her desire to punch Administrator Z’dar in the nose. “For, you see, the main star of this system has always been unusually active. Now, doubtless you’ve travelled far and wide on that starship of yours, but I doubt you’ve ever encountered a system quite like Zerothia.” For effect, the Administrator waved expansively out the massive viewport that stretched around a third of the circumference of the raised bubble of the Operation Center.</p><p>Lucero felt her tight smile ratchet up a notch. “We actually studied several stars that were very active, but EM emissions like these…”</p><p>“Yes, I’m sure. But the people of Zerothia Prime are used to our fickle sun. The electromagnetic storms are a fact of life. Our children play beneath the painted skies. And the occasional power outage…these are facts of life here, and not something to be feared or overreacted to.”</p><p>“I don’t think it’s an overreaction when the predictive model shows this station falling out of orbit.”</p><p>Administrator Z’Dar held up his hand again. “Perhaps I misspoke, and if I did then I apologize. It was not an overreaction on your part, but rather a natural extension of your duties. This I see. And I fully understand what a challenge it must be as a Starfleet advisor to find meaningful work in a station running as functionally as Hazarian.”</p><p><em>Meaningful work… </em>Lucero felt her cheeks burn. The intricacies of the Zerothian language were tricky to parse, and even more so after it filtered through the Universal Translator. Still, the way in which the Ops staff stiffened slightly and then went about their tasks conspicuously not noticing the conversation near the center of the room told Lucero that, yes, Administrator Z’Dar had shanked her between the ribs.</p><p>He wasn’t wrong. As per regulations, Starfleet was required to maintain a continuous presence on Hazarian Station in order for it to qualify for “friendly port” status. Unlike many other starbases, however, which were further out on the frontier and rougher places with less savory people running and frequenting them, Hazarian Station was a benign orbital recreation facility built and staffed by a benign member of the Federation. As such, the advisor position here was mostly ceremonial. Lucero’s occupancy of that position, however, was <em>very</em> deliberate.</p><p>Lucero made one last-ditch effort (if she was going to be exiled here under the pretense of representing Starfleet, she might as well do it to the hilt). “I think you should pay special attention to the models which show that a sequential series of gamma bursts could do series damage to the station, even through our shields.”</p><p>Administrator Z’Dar waved airly. “I most certainly will have a look. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a videoconference with the Commerce and Trading Committee. Good day, Commander.” He strode away, gazelle-like on his long spindly legs, leaving Lucero standing alone in the center of Ops.</p><p>All around her were stations and controls manned by the station’s administrative staff. She might have been on the bridge of a starship, except that there was no center command chair. That, and the fact no one would speak to her.</p><p>She got a few sidelong looks of sympathy, but nothing else. There was a profound enough cultural divide that the Zerothian staff didn’t try and socialize with her, and her own initial attempts to get to know them had been politely rebuffed.</p><p>Lucero stood alone in the center of the crowded room for a few more moments, then went to her station and ran the models one more time. There wasn’t much else to do.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Rest and Recreation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Joann Owosekun dodged the incoming projectile and returned fire with her own perfectly packed and rounded snowball. Johanna Nilsson laughed and tried to squirm out of its trajectory, but couldn’t pull her feet out of the ankle deep snow quickly enough and took the hit in the center of the back, just below the shoulder blade. She laugh/yelped at the wet, white explosion.</p><p>“Direct hit! Dorsal shields are down!” Owosekun called out triumphantly.</p><p>“Oh, you really asked for it now!” Nilsson laughed as she scooped up another handful of snow.</p><p>“Facewash!” EunLim taunted from where she was half-kneeling on Linus’s chest and vigorously rubbing snow in his face. The Saurian wore bright red earmuffs that were sliding off his scaly head.</p><p>“Aaargh! Stop! I’m ectothermic!” Linus protested, waving his gloved hands uselessly.</p><p>“Don’t care,” EunLim replied, unmoved and redoubled her efforts. “Go to sleep, Linus…go to sleep…”</p><p>“Hey,” Owosekun called out to her. “You’re the one who gets to carry him if he goes into a hibernation cycle.” She tilted her head quickly as Nilsson’s snowball whistled past her ear. “I’m not helping out this time. Saurians are <em>heavy!</em>”</p><p>“That’s our hardy skeleton!” Linus said, spitting out snow.</p><p>Nilsson gave up her arctic assault and walked over to join Owosekun and pointed to the sight of Linus’s ineffectual flailing. “Now <em>that</em> is funny. It’s too bad Keyla’s not here to see this.”</p><p>“She’s definitely going to miss the snow,” Owosekun observed. “Her family has a little cabin near Davos. When she’s back on Earth she’ll go there to ski or snowboard or, uh, basically use it as a romantic getaway if she’s involved with someone.”</p><p>“If/when,” Nilsson said with a smile.</p><p>“I grow bored of this game!” EunLim announced, raising herself up with no small amount of majesty, and brushed the snow off her thermal slacks. “I, EunLim—Warrior Queen of the Osnullus people, Conqueror of the Saurian Empire—demand that we retire to someplace with warmth!”</p><p>“My ears <em>are</em> getting a little numb,” Nilsson said, cupping them.</p><p>“You can use my earmuffs,” Linus said from where he was embedded in the snow. “They really aren’t affording me all that much warmth, as I don’t have external ears.”</p><p>“It’s cold in here, all right,” Owosekun said, looking around the massive environmental deck. The Zerothians hadn’t been exaggerating when they said it approximated a polar climate. Along with a temperature of a brisk -9 degrees Celsius, the entirety of the deck was covered in drifts and mounds and hills of downy, alabaster snow, except for the stretch near the edge where there was a small ice-skating disc. Above them, the ceiling projected clear, blue skies.</p><p>Osnellus put her fists to her hips and raised her bulb-shaped head, looking at the artificial horizon. “I, EunLim, decree that we depart the frozen wasteland. We shall instead journey to more bountiful places. Places where we may warm our conquering hearts and nourish our bloodthirsty souls.”</p><p>“Hot chocolate on the mess deck sounds good to me,” Owosekun said.</p><p>“Hot chocolate?” Linus’s head popped up from the snow, his reptilian eyes somehow even wider than normal—something Owosekun wouldn’t have thought possible if she hadn’t seen it.</p><p>“No!” she pointed at him sternly. “No hot chocolate for you.”</p><p>“I love hot chocolate.”</p><p>“No more sugar,” Owosekun said. “I mean it.”</p><p>“Remember the last time you had hot chocolate?” Nilsson asked. “You almost destroyed the pommel horse on the recreation deck reenacting something called <em>gymkata</em>.”</p><p>Linus nodded. “’The skill of gymnastics. The kill of karate’.”</p><p>“And considering we’re guests here…”</p><p>“I’ll have a sucrose-substitute,” Linus said. “I promise I won’t get hyper…too hyper. I won’t break anything…too badly.”</p><p>Owosekun sighed. “All right. Let’s all go get warm.”</p><p>Linus let out a whoop and leapt to his feet, and the four of them trudged through the snow toward the exit.</p><p>“We should let Keyla know where we’ll be, so she can join us when she gets done in the sim suite.” Owosekun said.</p><p>“Yeah,” Nilsson agreed. “Actually, I’m surprised you didn’t go with her. It sounds fun.”</p><p>Owosekun gave her an incredulous look. “Are you kidding? The simulations Keyla plays? How she plays them?” She shook her head. “I don’t want to near that.”</p><p> </p><p>********</p><p>Keyla Detmer cranked on the stick and stomped hard on the right pedal, taking the Messerschmitt into a hard right bank. The lean, sheet-metal airframe groaned and creaked around her as it fought the Gs of the obstinate planet below, but it wasn’t enough to evade the hissing fire of the pursuing Spitfire’s guns.</p><p><em>“Scheissen!”</em> She swore as the cramped can of a cockpit shuddered around her with the impact of the Spitfire’s .303 rounds. She twisted her head around and lifted her goggles off her face and onto the forehead of her leather flying helmet so she could see through the metal cage of a canopy. She saw a cluster of ragged, blackened holes in her starboard wing. “<em>Deine Mutter geht in der Stadt huren!”</em> She shouted at the British plane as it passed below her and sped into the grey distance. The damnable Spitfires were just too damn nimble, and when you had one on your tail you weren’t going to be able to shake it. Not in an BF109-E, anyway. Fortunately, in typically British manner, the Spitfire’s eight Browning .303 caliber machine guns were too weak and unassuming to penetrate the Messerschmitt’s armor or badly damage its self-sealing fuel tanks.</p><p>“Pip pip, <em>arschloch!” </em>Keyla muttered and she rammed the throttle all the way down and let the Messerschmitt’s Daimler-Benz engine roar and drag the plane through the air at 500 kph, devouring the distance between her and the Spitfire.</p><p>
  <em>You crumpet-eaters might be maneuverable, but on my side I’ve got better speed and…</em>
</p><p>Keyla watched the Spitfire expand in the reticle of the Revi gunsight and squeezed the trigger on the control stick. The whole plane vibrated as the Messerschmitt’s quad 20mm cannons spat explosive rounds at the British warplane.</p><p>
  <em>…better firepower.</em>
</p><p>A stitching of glowing tracers seemed to float toward the Spitfire--reminding Keyla ever so slightly of a volley of photon torpedoes<em>—</em>then tore into the fighter’s fuselage, crumpling it like a cheap beverage can before shredding it into shrapnel and sending the wreckage plummeting into the dark waters of the channel.</p><p>Keyla throttled back and climbed to rejoin the Junker she’d been escorting. A sky the color of gunmetal blurred past her canopy as she gained altitude and saw the spindly shape of the Junker flanked by her escorts about ten klicks out at her one o’clock high. Against the bleak skies, she saw dark puffs of AA fire, and, further out, four Hurricanes angling in for an attack.</p><p><em>Like hell you do!</em> Keyla opened up the engine again and tensed her stomach muscles as she felt gravity pull against her frame and try and rob her brain of oxygen. Two of the Hurricanes broke off and dove to engage her.</p><p><em>Bring it, arschegeige!</em> She thought furiously as she maneuvered to eliminate the distance between them. She wanted to go head-to head with these bastards. She eased the stick back and watched the glowing crosshairs on the revi climb to the Hurricane’s cowling. She grited her teeth and fired again. This time there was a sudden flash as the 20mm rounds impacted the Hurricane as they passed each other. The drone of the British plane rang in her ears as it passed over her, drenching her momentarily in shadow. Keyla imagined she could smell smoke. She looked up at the rear-view mirror and saw the Hurricane arc off, bleeding black smoke.</p><p>She banked the Messerschmitt and craned her neck, scanning the bleak skies for the other Hurricane, when, abruptly, the world stopped, as the sim paused. Across the canopy windscreen a message blinked into being.</p><p>INCOMING MESSAGE: DETMER, KEYLA/ FROM: OWOSEKUN, JOANN ACCEPT? Y/N</p><p>Keyla sighed and said, “Accept.”</p><p><em>“Keyla, sorry to interrupt,”</em> Owosekun said.</p><p>“Not a problem. I just smoked a Limey and was looking for his wingman.”</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, that’s nice. Hey, we’re heading to the mess deck to get some hot chocolate and warm up.”</em>
</p><p>“Yikes! You’re not letting Linus have any hot chocolate, are you?”</p><p>
  <em>“We’re monitoring the sugar intake, but still bracing for a storm. So, you want to meet up when you’re done?”</em>
</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll be there in about twenty. Shouldn’t take must longer than that to clear out the Channel.”</p><p>
  <em>“Great. See you then. Enjoy shooting down the British.”</em>
</p><p>“I always do. Out.” Keyla closed out the message with a wave of her hand, then lurched as the simulation kicked in again: the droning of the props, the howl of the wind outside the canopy. Keyla yanked on the stick and directed her imaginary plane into the thick of the battle.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Dark Nights of the Soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lucero’s quarters were spacious and comfortable by the accommodation standards of a starbase, and positively palatial compared to those of a starship, but she had never really bothered to move in. She kept the walls bare, and the surfaces largely empty except for utility items, and lived mostly out of a replicator and her ruck. Even after living here for almost a year, it was as anonymous and the empty suites on either side of her. When she thought it about, she imagined the color beige.</p>
<p> They say that keeping a schedule is essential to maintaining good mental health, so after Lucero left Ops—the staff politely nodding and murmuring pleasantries when she said goodbye for the evening—she went directly to the Staff Rec Deck and ran ten kilometers on a resistance trail, then stood in her hydro-shower and stretched the knots out of her tightening leg muscles. After drying off, she changed into a pair of silk pajamas—her only real luxury in this place—and drank a rehydrating beverage and checked her personal comms dashboard. In an hour or so, when her body became ravenous from the run, she’d replicate a protein-heavy dinner and a bottle of cabernet.</p>
<p>In all likelihood she wouldn’t leave the suite—she seldom did—despite the myriad activities available on the station. Treating the station like an R&amp;R seemed distasteful to her, given why she was here. Tonight held the slight temptation of going out, though. She’d seen on the station’s guest manifest that four officers from the starship <em>USS Discovery</em> were currently aboard, and she felt the familiar pull toward camaraderie. A year ago, she wouldn’t have had to think about it and just gone and met up with fellow Starfleet personnel. She’d buy a round of drinks or two and listen to stories of their unfamiliar ship before gently boasting about life aboard the <em>Enterprise </em>(because even if you were inclined toward modesty, the audience was expecting grandiosity from any tales from the Big E).</p>
<p>Now, though, she knew the conversation would take a different tack. Sure, they’d be pleasant—probably even friendly, as the personality-type for Starfleet personnel tended toward generosity—but they’d want to know the story. They would be polite and supportive about it. They’d ask her to fact-check the stories they’d heard, and there might be some amusement to be found in how distorted the story had gotten after traveling the Starfleet gossip pipeline. Maybe the story was that the tribbles devoured people like fuzzy piranhas, or that Edward Larken had gone mad at the end and believed himself a god-figure to the tribbles. Maybe there was even some version where she had behaved heroically.</p>
<p>Lynne Lucero really didn’t want to recount the matter ever again—not even to set the record straight. She’d already gone over it in painful detail from a dozen different angles in the official inquest. Instead she scrolled through her incoming personal messages for the day, felt a slight, cold jolt when she saw another one from Captain Pike (she had stopped mentally referring to him as “Chris” when she’d been demoted). Her blunt-nailed fingertips hovered over the message for a moment as she fought the temptation to open it.</p>
<p>On some level she knew that she was being a coward, and that the mature thing to do—the thing a Starfleet officer should do—is read the letter and just take the pain, face up to the disappointment in her that he must feel but wouldn’t express. Or maybe his natural generosity of spirit would afford her forgiveness and understanding. That would be even worse. That would just put into sharp relief what a decent person and exemplary officer she had thoroughly let down.</p>
<p>Still, for just a moment she was tempted to open it. The agony of facing how her failure had cast an ill reflection on him was almost worth enduring just for a moment of human connection with her past.</p>
<p>She flicked it aside into the folder with all the rest of his unopened messages.</p>
<p>Lucero took a long pull of her hydration drink, then went to the replicator to order her dinner. If she were telling the truth, exile suited her better than she or anyone around her would have expected. But then, people always had an impression of her that was a few points off center. They looked at her Argentinian heritage and assumed she’d grown up in the midst of Rio’s electric nightlife, or (if they were more inclined to imagining her in a swimsuit) paddling in the crystal blue waters of Pinamar Beach when playing beach volleyball with her friends on the warm sands.</p>
<p>In truth her childhood been spent on an expanse of frozen terrain in Tierra del Fuego, a stone’s throw from Antarctica. Their nearest neighbor required a shuttle flight to visit, and for much of her childhood, Lucero’s fathers spent their every spare second at the Antarctica Massive Telescope Facility on Graham Land, leaving her alone in their massive house. She learned a routine at a young age: exercise, studies, dinner, then a quick book or film before bed. Most nights were spent alone, gradually losing herself in the plot of some romance novel or techno-thriller (her faves during her hormonal teenage years) dimly aware of the wind howling outside her bunker-shaped home.</p>
<p>So, really, this existence wasn’t much of s change. She’d eat. Drink some wine. Maybe read a bit if the wine didn’t hit her too hard, then go to bed. The <em>Discovery</em> crew members would just have to go without hearing the real story. And that was fine. While they would probably show her sympathy, Lucero knew it would also contain that hard kernel of relief and subversive hope—relief it hadn’t happened to them and hope that if someone so incompetent as she could achieve the rank of captain, so could they.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Moment Before/The Moment When</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Keyla Detmer strode into the mess deck on a wave of adrenaline and endorphins so potent, she imagined they could be seen swirling ahead of her in colorful, translucent tendrils like cartoon cooking smells. “I have successfully defended the Fatherland once again,” she announced when she reached the table with her crewmates. She pulled up a chair between EunLim and Nilsson and inspected the contents of their trays.</p>
<p>“That’s good,” Owosekun said. “I’m glad you helped the war effort of one of the most horrible ideologies in history.”</p>
<p>Detmer blew a raspberry. “It’s a <em>game,</em> Owo. Besides, it’s not about assisting the Nazis. It’s about taking the Brits down a notch or two.” She picked up a spare set of chopsticks and poked at one of Nilsson’s crab-stuffed dumpling. “You gonna eat that?” Nilsson nodded.</p>
<p>“Anyone want to fill in the non-Earthers here?” EunLim asked as she shoveled a forkful of deep-fried Rigellian scarabs into her feeding proboscis.</p>
<p>“Keyla was pretending to be a pilot in a famous battle during Earth Second Global Conflict,” Nilsson explained. “She was fighting on the side of a genocidal fascist regime which had already conquered most of the continent against the last free country in the region—an island nation.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Detmer said defensively, “but let’s be realistic here? Does anyone want the Limeys running Europe? A bunch pale, pasty sexless fox-faced weenies running free around the continent all like, ‘Pip pip and cheerio, old chap. Shall we have some crumpets in bonnet? I’m just knackered!’”</p>
<p>“Today’s <em>Introduction to the Cultures of Earth’s European Region</em> has been taught by adjunct professor Keyla Detmer,” Owosekun said dryly.</p>
<p>“Tell me I’m wrong!”</p>
<p>“As with so many things…” Owosekun started.</p>
<p>“You want my bamboo shoots?” Linus offered Detmer his tray. “I’m full.”</p>
<p>“Ew, no. Anyone have any meat? I need some protein after sending those Tommys to the bottom of the channel.”</p>
<p>“Want some eel?” EunLim offered. “My eyes are bigger than my stomachs.”</p>
<p>Keyla accepted the offering with enthusiasm. “I could go for eel.”</p>
<p>“Nice hat,” Linus pointed at her head. Detmer grinned and peeled the leather flying helmet off her head. Her short strawberry-blonde hair poured out the right side and bounced beside her cheek, while she felt the cool air on the bare scalp on the right side.</p>
<p>“It’s a genuine Luftwaffe winter-issue flying helmet,” she said proudly, holding it up on one fist.</p>
<p>“And you just <em>have</em> that?” EunLim asked.</p>
<p>“My family have been pilots for generations. My grandmother was one of the last Earth Air Force pilots before spacecraft made aircraft obsolete. She fought the Gallic Hegemony in the skies over Europe at the end of World War III.”</p>
<p>How interesting,” Nilsson said sincerely. “How come you didn’t simulate that battle?”</p>
<p>Detmer shrugged. “It’s less fun.”</p>
<p>“How so?” Linus asked.</p>
<p>“By that time everything was ECM and fire-and-forget missiles from miles away. There wasn’t any real dogfighting.” She sampled the eel EunLim had given her. It was gloriously fatty and oily. “Technology has a way of draining all the romance out of warfare.”</p>
<p>“There’s so much wrong with that phrase I’m just going to leave it there,” Owosekun said. Detmer stuck her tongue out at her.</p>
<p>“Anyone hear the latest from the <em>Discovery?</em>” Nilsson asked.</p>
<p>Owosekun answered, “Just that we’re still due to depart for Vulcan next week.”</p>
<p>“Any word on the new captain?” Detmer asked the question Nilsson had been afraid to.</p>
<p>“Not a word.”</p>
<p>“I can’t help but feel a tad underserved by Starfleet in this matter,” Detmer groused. “More than any ship, <em>Discovery’s</em> crew should have a bit more transparency in who’s going to fill that center seat.”</p>
<p>“You want to explain that to Command?” Owosekun said. “Besides, they’ve got a lot of mopping up to do now that the war’s over. The concerns of one little starship crew isn’t a pressing concern.”</p>
<p>“Still,” EunLim said. “A memo would be nice.”</p>
<p>Abruptly the whole station shifted beneath them as if they were on a zero-G amusement park ride, scattering dishes and utensils and sending bodies tumbling out of chairs throughout the mess deck.</p>
<p><em>“What the hell was that?”</em> Owosekun cried out over the din of the chaos around her.</p>
<p>But Detmer already had a pretty good idea. “Nothing good,” she said grimly. “We gotta call in.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Catastrophe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lynne Lucero was in the throes of a nightmare when the room shifted around her. It was a familiar one: she was on the bridge of the <em>USS</em> <em>Cabot</em>—in her dream it wasn’t the cramped cozy bridge of her little science vessel, but as massive and expansive as a banquet hall—in the midst of some sort of alien attack. She didn’t know who was attacking; their ships were unfamiliar and shaped like great insects. The ship shuddered and the sparks and wreckage rained down from the ceiling onto the sprawling bridge. Lucero shouted orders to her crew, but they were either too far away to hear her or they ignored her completely. She needed to know who was firing on them, needed to see if they could establish communications before there was further loss of life, but the comm officer didn’t acknowledge her orders, even when she stood behind him screamed them at him. He didn’t seem to notice her at all.</p>
<p>She kept shouting at him as the largest ship—some kind of flagship or dreadnaught—loomed in the viewscreen, and suddenly a mechanical pincer exploded through the deck, tearing through the deck plates as if they were tissue paper, and tearing a young yeoman in half. Lucero screamed in terror and despair at the sight of the woman’s lifeless eyes as her mangled torso thumped on the ruined deck.</p>
<p>The ship was being torn apart around her, and still no one responded to her.</p>
<p>And then she was awake, her eyes snapping open at the flood of adrenaline into her system, as her senses gradually keyed in on the unfamiliar phenomena that had pulled her from sleep.</p>
<p>The station was moving. No, it was more than moving it was <em>sliding</em>. And that was very, very bad. Lucero was well-versed in the specs of Hazarian Station and knew that it had massive gravity generators and internal dampeners. Nothing short of a photon torpedo barrage should have been able to disrupt the artificial equilibrium of the station. Whatever was happening now was nothing short of massive. Massive and catastrophic.</p>
<p>“Lights!” She called out as she jumped out of bed yanked a fresh uniform out of the closet. “Computer, status report! Why are we moving?”</p>
<p>
  <em>“Hello. It appears that Hazarian Station’s gravitic stabilizers are offline. Thank you for asking.”</em>
</p>
<p>Lucero groaned as she struggled into her uniform (who the hell in Starfleet was designing these things and why did they make so damn <em>tight</em>?). “Computer, eliminate politeness subroutines. What caused the gravitic stabilizers to fail?”</p>
<p>
  <em>“Unable to ascertain based upon existing data.”</em>
</p>
<p>“Computer, was there an increase in ionic jetsam from the main star in the past six hours?” She asked as she pulled on her boots.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Affirmative. Ionic emissions increased by 674% approximately 72 minutes ago.”</em>
</p>
<p>“Fuck,” she whispered. “Did the shields compensate?”</p>
<p>
  <em>“Shields operated within normal scheduled parameters.”</em>
</p>
<p>“Goddamn you, Z’Dar,” she snarled and ran for the Ops Center. The corridors of Hazarian Station were starting to fill with guests and residents slowly emerging from their suites, looking about confusedly, some rubbing the sleep from their eyes, some alert and panicked.</p>
<p>“Get inside!” Lucero ordered. “Get inside and stay in the center of the room!” Hazarian Station had wardens who should have been managing the resident’s safety, getting accountability of everyone aboard and giving them instructions. Where the hell where they?</p>
<p>When she burst through the doors of the Ops Center, she found herself rushing into a hive of activity. Except that it was all wrong. Rather than work furiously at their consoles, the Zerothian staff was rushing around the room, gathering things up.</p>
<p><em>“What the hell?”</em> Lucero exclaimed in spite of herself.</p>
<p>“Commander, we have to go,” Administrator Z’Dar said, panicked. He was in the doorway to his office struggling with a cumbersome box of his personnel effects. “The stabilizers have been completely destroyed along with the retro-boosters.”</p>
<p>“Z’Dar, we’ve got to evacuate the station!”</p>
<p>He made his customary dismissive gesture—quicker this time. “We’ll sound the alarm. The computer will instruct people where to go. But we have to leave <em>now!</em> We’ve only got a few minutes before this station is too deep in the gravity well for the escape craft to depart.”</p>
<p>Lucero was momentarily dumbstruck. Had he just… “Are you <em>kidding</em> me?” She demanded. “You’re just going to run away? You’re the Administrator of this station! You have a duty to ensure the safety of—“ She was cut off as the station shifted again, this time precariously and at a pronounced angle that overrode the artificial gravity and sent unsecured items crashing off of consoles and tables.</p>
<p>“We need to go!” Z’Dar exclaimed, his eyes wide saucers of panic that didn’t see anything except the pathways to the door.</p>
<p>“Administrator…” But he body-checked her out his way and kept going. “Administrator! <em>Z’Dar!</em>” She shouted but, he didn’t stop, and the last she saw of him was his skinny frame bounding gazelle-like through the door and down the hallway. Lucero turned back to the bustling Op center, speechless.</p>
<p>The rest of the Administrative staff stared at her silently. A few of them hung their heads sheepishly.</p>
<p>And then they fled, too, pushing Lucero aside as their supervisor had, and running for the escape craft. In less than 30 seconds, Lucero stood alone, overlooking the massive nerve center of the crippled station, at the various consoles flashing, beeping, and otherwise begging for attention, and finally at the massive viewport and the orange/green world that dominated it.</p>
<p>“Okay,” she sighed. “I guess I’m the one handling this.” She jumped down the access rail to main systems deck and pulled up a quick status report on the Systems console.  The news about as bad as it could be. Z’Dar was right: the boosters and stabilizers had been completely burnt out by the solar burst.</p>
<p>She grunted in satisfaction when she saw that the operational systems—gravity, life-support, reactor core containment—were all in the green. At least she didn’t have to worry about the station exploding and scattering debris into the atmosphere…</p>
<p>
  <em>Atmosphere!</em>
</p>
<p>“Oh no,” Lucero whispered as she called up the orbital coordinates. In a small sub-window on the Systems console her worst fears were confirmed by a dashed line showing the exact trajectory Hazarian Station would take into the planet’s atmosphere. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no…” She asked the computer for a timeframe, and it hit her like gut punch.</p>
<p>Hazarian Station was falling from the sky and would hit the atmosphere in under an hour.</p>
<p>At terminal velocity, the impact would drive the station up to 20 kilometers into the planet’s crust and cause the core to explode with more energy than the object that had carved out the Chicxulub crater on Earth and killed the dinosaurs.</p>
<p>Zerothian Prime’s biosphere was about to be destroyed.</p>
<p>The room spun around her and her blood rang in her ears. Lucero doubled over and gasped for breath and her mind shorted out at the information she’d just digested. “Okay,” she said to herself in an attempt to control her breathing. “Okay…okay…okay…” She put her hands on her knees and gathered herself. <em>Think like a starship captain!</em> She thought furiously.</p>
<p>First step: all nonessential personnel need to be evacuated.</p>
<p>Lucero felt a tingle in her fingertips and a buzzing in her head as the panic gave way and reveled a course of action. A rough rudimentary one, to be sure, but it was a plan and that was precisely what she needed right now. That and a crew…</p>
<p>She brought up the internal communications controls and accessed the Starfleet channel. “Attention Starfleet personnel! Attention Starfleet personnel! This is Cap—Commander Lynne Lucero, Starfleet attaché to Hazarian Station, please identify yourselves and standby for orders, is that understood?” She bounced on the balls of her feet, waiting for them to respond.</p>
<p>
  <em>Maybe they’re asleep…you’ll have to pull their suite numbers and go down there…we don’t have time for that…this station is falling…</em>
</p>
<p>Mercifully, a mellow voice came over the comms. <em>“This is Lieutenant Owosekun of the Starship </em>Discovery.<em> What do you need us to do, Commander?”</em></p>
<p>Lucero exhaled a relieved sigh. At least she’d have some backup for this. “Sound off. How many of you are there?”</p>
<p>
  <em>“Five, Commander. Lieutenants Detmer and Nilsson are with me as well as Ensign EunLim and Lieutenant Junior-Grade Linus.”</em>
</p>
<p>“All right, <em>Discovery</em>. This station has sustained catastrophic damage and needs to be evacuated immediately. In two minutes I’m going to sound the evacuation alarm. I need you all to facilitate evac of the guests to the exterior spokes. They serve as lifeboats and will stay in orbit until rescue craft can get here. Now, if you call up a schematic display you’ll see the layout—”</p>
<p><em>“We have it, Commander,”</em> Lieutenant Owosekun said. <em>“We’re divvying up who’s going what spokes right now.”</em></p>
<p>“All right. You’ll also have…”</p>
<p>
  <em>“Accountability numbers. We’ve got then.”</em>
</p>
<p>“Excellent,” she said. She liked these <em>Discovery</em> people. “You’re the evacuation marshal, Lieutenant Owosekun. Have your crewmates report their numbers back to you, then send them to me.”</p>
<p>
  <em>“On it, Commander.”</em>
</p>
<p>“And Lieutenant,” she said. “We don’t have much time.</p>
<p>There was a moment, and then <em>“Understood.”</em></p>
<p>“Lucero out.” She killed the connection and turned back to the Systems console. They were still on the edge of a planetary disaster, she knew, but for the first time in a long time she felt something like control.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Sitreps</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“All Starfleet personnel, report in with a sitrep!”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Owosekun, from Linus: Blue Section is about two-thirds clear. Compliance is good. All systems functioning normal so far.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Copy, Linus.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Owosekun, this is Nilsson. I think we’re about half done here. There are a bunch of families in Orange Section, so the evac is going a little slower.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Stay on it, Johanna. We’re cutting it close as it is.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Acknowledged. Nilsson out.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Green sector is eighty-seven percent clear. Anticipate fully evacuated in the next ten minutes.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Good work, Keyla.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I caught some static from a freighter captain who didn’t appreciate his floating dice game being broken up, but I stunned him and threatened to do the same to his compatriots.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“That would explain the high level of compliance.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Lieutenant Owosekun, this is EunLee. Red Section is about three-fourths evacuated. Anticipate full evacuation in under ten minutes.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“All sectors: good copy. Send internal sensor reports of population numbers when you have the chance. Owosekun out.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Owosekun to Commander Lucero.”</em>
</p>
<p>Lucero hit the comm panel. “Go for Lucero.”</p>
<p>
  <em>“All sectors report evacuation in progress. Anticipate full evac in under ten minutes.”</em>
</p>
<p>“Copy that, Owosekun. Report in when everyone’s in the habitat pods.”</p>
<p>
  <em>“Aye sir. Owosekun out.”</em>
</p>
<p>That phrase—<em>aye sir—</em>the trust, respect, and blind faith that infused it caught Lucero like a hook through her intestines. In truth, during the long solitude of this assignment she’d never really imagined having anyone reporting to her ever again. There was solace in that, since it meant the perch from which to fall was lowered significantly. But now, hearing it again—<em>aye sir—</em>she realized how much she missed it.</p>
<p>Lucero went back to her computer and brought up the models she’d worked on for the duration of her time here. The ones Administrator Z’Dar hadn’t deigned to examine…</p>
<p>******** </p>
<p>“We’re good!” Detmer announced breathlessly as she skidded to a halt in the mess deck, where Owosekun had established a makeshift command center. The rest of the <em>Discovery</em> personnel were already there. They all looked stricken. “What’d I miss?” She asked.</p>
<p>Owosekun shook her head and keyed the comm panel. “Commander Lucero, we’re green for evac. Repeat, all personnel are offloaded.”</p>
<p>
  <em>“Copy that, Lieutenant. I’m jettisoning the environment spokes now. Brace yourself—you may feel the concussion of the exploding bolts.” </em>
</p>
<p>“We’re secure, Commander.” A moment later there was a dull rumble that shook the station and caused the abandoned plates and silverware to rattle and clatter off the empty tables. A second later a longer, more pronounced tremor when through the station, causing Keyla to scramble and flap her arms to maintain her balance.</p>
<p>“There went the rest,” she said ruefully, then staggered against centrifugal force to reach Owosekun’ s comm panel. She grabbed the edge and pulled herself close enough to see the display, which showed an exterior view of the station. The four habitat pods attached to their spokes drifted away from the station’s central core like daisies floating on a current. “It looks like they’ll get clear.”</p>
<p>“But the station is on orbital approach,” Nilsson said, her voice smaller than normal.</p>
<p>“It’s true,” Owosekun said sadly. “The station will be in the planetary gravity well soon.”</p>
<p>“The shields might keep the Hazarian Station from burning up in the atmosphere, but when we impact the core will lose containment and breach.” EunLee added. “The destruction will be catastrophic. The metropolitan area that abuts the impact site has a population of thirty million.”</p>
<p>“Worse,” Linus said gravely. “The ejecta from the impact and explosion has the potential to totally alter the biosphere.”</p>
<p>It took a moment for the reality of the situation to sink in, but when her brain processed it, Detmer felt like an icicle had pierced her heart.</p>
<p>The planet below them was going to die. “We should get to the bridge,” she said, her mouth dry.</p>
<p>“I believe it’s an Operations Center on space stations,” Linus corrected.</p>
<p>“Wherever,” Detmer said impatiently. “We got to rendezvous with the Starfleet honcho here and see what we can do to keep this thing from full Starfall on the planet below.”</p>
<p>Owosekun gestured at the nearest turbolift. “Four decks up…”</p>
<p>The spacious lift climbed the decks to Ops in a matter of moments, undelayed  by other guests embarking and disembarking, but it was still an excruciating wait. By the time the doors slid apart and revealed the Ops Center, Detmer was ready to crawl out of her skin. She bolted out of the lift.</p>
<p>“Commander Lucero, Starship <em>Discovery</em> personnel are standing by to—oh…<em>hel-lo</em>…” She stopped short, nearly tripping over herself.</p>
<p>Commander Lucero was <em>really</em> cute. Downright hot, actually.</p>
<p>Petite, but curvy—the form-fitting Starfleet uniform was clearly her friend—she was dark in that classic Byronic manner, <em>meeting in her aspect and her eyes</em>…those eyes, ember dark (<em>Spanish blood?</em> Detmer wondered) held oceans of regret and loss. <em>Who hurt you?</em> Detmer thought. <em>You can tell me your story while we luxuriate in my beech sheets and eat bagels, and I’ll teach you how to trust again…to love again…</em></p>
<p>“Com-<em>man-der!” </em>Owosekun said sharply from her left elbow. “How can we help?” Then she threw a quick, but withering look at Detmer.</p>
<p>The Commander seemed thrown. “I…Sorry, Lieutenant. I expected your report in from the mess deck.”</p>
<p>“We thought you’d want us,” Detmer said, then blushed. “You’d need us…to help. To help the station not crash.” Mentally she gave herself mad points for a graceful recovery, making Owosekun’s exaggerated eye roll all the more perplexing. She took a step forward and saved Detmer for further embarrassment.</p>
<p>“I’m Lieutenant Owosekun. This is Lieutenant Detmer, Nilsson, Osullus, and Linus.” The <em>Discovery </em>crewmembers nodded slightly as they were introduced.</p>
<p>Commander Lucero stood a little straighter. “Well, thank you all for what you’ve done. Hundreds of people owe you their lives. Now I need you to get to the escape pods. We can’t stop the station’s descent, and there’s no reason for anyone else to die, too.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Cold Equations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Owosekun was the first to break the stunned silence. “Commander…are you planning on staying aboard the station?”</p><p>Lucerno nodded crisply, fighting a pitched battle not to give up anything--not to show her fear, her anguish, her defeat. This is what command is: reading the cold equations of the situation and responding competently, dispassionately. “We are facing a potentially extinction-level catastrophe,” she said, finding solace in facts. She punched up her models on the holographic viewer and red ghost-image of the station’s core appeared in the middle of the room. “Hazarian Station,” she said. Then a blue hologram of the planet appeared. “Zerothian Prime. Now, the station is going to dip into the gravity well here—” the station scooted along a dashed line to a point a seemingly a meter from the hologram of the planet—“and once that happens it’s in free fall.” The station collided with the planet, which blinked red.</p><p>“The impact at terminal velocity will rupture the reactor cores—no amount of shielding can prevent that. The resulting explosion will unleash approximately thirty yottajoules of energy, which is…”</p><p>“A planet-killer,” the blonde woman—Nilsson? Nillson—said quietly. “The ejecta cloud will blot out the sun for…months.”</p><p>“Not to mention the mega-tsunami,” The Osnullian officer added. Lucero gave her look-over. She’d never served with an Osnullus, and she regretted that she wouldn’t have the opportunity to know this one better. “A shockwave like that is going to ravage coastlines.”</p><p>“You see?” Lucero asked. “I’ve been putting together worst-case scenario models for the entirety of my time here. The Zerothian government didn’t pay attention. Now…” she cleared the hologram with a quick gesture and called up another view of the station, this one enclosed in a shimmering bubble. “Here is the thing about this station: because the system’s sun is so unusually active, this station as an incredibly nimble and versatile shield system.” She brought up her model and the shimmering bubble took on the jagged lines of her design. “They can be reconfigured into multiple unorthodox designs.”</p><p>“Feathering…” Linus the Saurian said, his voice startlingly clear and deep. For some reason, she imagined Saurians as having hissing voices.</p><p><em>It’s filtered through the Universal Translator, you nitwit!</em> Lucero thought.</p><p>“Beg pardon?” the coltish Lieutenant Detmer asked, and for the first time Lucero noticed she had an extensive cybernetic implant embedded in the left side of her skull. <em>What happened to you?</em> She wondered, then shook it away.</p><p>“It’s a method of controlling planetary reentry,” Linus explained. “Essentially you use a surface area to produce a more aerodynamic drag. It reduces the thermal load by employing what’s called the ‘shuttlecock effect.’ You know, after badminton.”</p><p>“How do you know about badminton?” Detmer asked.</p><p>“I know about badminton,” Linus answered, and if Lucero didn’t know better she’d think he sounded smug.</p><p>“In addition to the thermal effect, it slows velocity,” Lucero explained. “In this case, I’ve modeled a configuration that will slow our descent enough to prevent the cores from rupturing.”</p><p>“But even if you mitigate the effect on the core, the impact of the station…” Nilsson said in her quiet voice. Lucero got the feeling she wasn’t the one the captain would put in charge of the Away Team.</p><p>“It’ll be significant,” Lucero nodded. “Right now, this station is projected to land here—” she zoomed in to show Lundheaton City. “It’s a major port city. Population roughly thirty million. I’ve already contacted civic authorities, and they’ve begun evacuations.”</p><p>“What’s the casualty projection?” Detmer asked.</p><p>Lucero held her glance. “Fifteen to twenty million. Zerothian Prime doesn’t yet have a nationwide emergency transporter network.”</p><p>“God,” Owosekun sighed.</p><p>“So,” Lucero said with authority she didn’t necessarily feel, “you understand what we’re dealing with. That’s why I need you off this station ASAP. I don’t need anyone else getting killed on my watch.”</p><p>“Wait, you’re staying?” Detmer said, her blue eyes flashing.</p><p>Lucero took an uncomfortable breath. “The shield model is theoretical. The best computer simulations give it a fifty-five to sixty-five seventy percent chance of success. Seventy on a good day. I may need to make modifications as the station falls, and I can’t do that from an escape pod.”</p><p>“Commander,” Owosekun began, but Lucero cut her off.</p><p>“It’s also important for Starfleet to have someone here. At the end. If millions or—worst case-- billions of Zerothians are going to die, Starfleet needs to show them that we’ll sacrifice our people, too to try and help them. That’s my job here, but it’s not yours, and I’m not going to watch you die. Now, I need you to get to the last escape pod. We don’t have much time.”</p><p>Her words hung in the air, and she saw the <em>Discovery </em>crew processing them. EunLim was unreadable, but Nilsson looked stricken. Owosekun was grim, but understanding, and Linus’s eye membranes clicked open and shut more rapidly than normal. Detmer—</p><p>Detmer took a step forward. “Well, then," she said, "we’re just going to have to land this bitch.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Danger is Our Business</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>“Lieutenant,</em>” the foxy Commander’s voice snapped like a riding crop, “I gave you an order. You’re not risking your life.”</p><p>Detmer opened her mouth to say something—she didn’t know what, she hadn’t really thought past the moment she decided to say something bold and certain to dispel the gloom of their situation—but Owosekun saved her.</p><p>“Respectfully, Commander, for all the reasons you can’t just watch this calamity unfold from the safety of an escape pod, neither can we.”</p><p>“We’re Starfleet,” Nilsson said. “We don’t just walk away when the odds are against us.”</p><p>“We’re not going,” EunLim said.</p><p>Lucero’s incredulous gaze swept over the five of them. “All of you agree on this?”</p><p>It occurred to Detmer that maybe she should have taken a vote before she opened her mouth. Oh well…</p><p>“I think we’re all in agreement,” Owosekun said gently as she looked at each of her crewmates, seeking any sign of uncertainty, fear, reluctance, Detmer knew, just as she knew she’d find none.</p><p>Lucero opened her mouth to say something but couldn’t seem to find the words. Her eyes glittered, and Detmer had the sudden urge to hug her and tell her that she wasn’t alone in this, and that they’d all stand beside her, no matter what. And then make tender love to her to teach her to trust again.</p><p>“All right,” Lucero said.</p><p>“Huh?” Detmer had just begun mentally unzippering Lucero’s uniform and realized she might have missed something important.</p><p>Lucero took a deep breath and clapped her hands together, “Everyone take a station.” There was some steel in her voice now as she found her place as a commander, and she ran through the various control stations: Power Allotment, Shields and Protective Systems, Environmental Systems, Guidance and Telemetry, and Sensors and Comms. “Familiarize yourself with the scenario. I need options. We’ve got about twenty minutes before terminal velocity and centrifugal force will make it impossible to do anything.</p><p>The <em>Discovery</em> crewmembers all descended upon the Operations Center’s control systems and read their readouts. Since there was no helm, Detmer squeezed in next to Owosekun at Guidance and Telemetry.</p><p>“Here,” she said, pointing to the station’s projected glide path on her screen. “That’s not good.”</p><p>Detmer took a moment then made out what she took to be the graphic representation of Lundheaton City. Then she looked at the red curtain that bisected it. “So, that’s the projected impact?”</p><p>“Yep,” Owosekun said. “Even at the extreme outside…”</p><p>“That’s like, twenty kilometers outside the city limits, so we’re still facing a casualty count...”</p><p>“That’s astronomical,” Owosekun nodded sadly.</p><p>“We gotta move that impact site. At least a couple of klicks. Out into the bay would be best.”</p><p>“We can reroute emergency power to thrusters,” EunLim said excitedly. “There are auxiliary power nodes that can be reprogrammed—”</p><p>“It won’t matter,” Lucero shook her head grimly. “The thrusters are externally-mounted. When those ionic bursts hit us, they were burnt out. You can reroute power, but it’ll be reaching a burnt pile of debris.”</p><p>EunLee hung her head. “We have so much power…”</p><p>“Maybe too much,” Nilsson said. “The reactors are showing temperature spikes. There must a venting issue.”</p><p>“If we lose the reactor, we lose control of the shields and we’re back to the extinction-level impact,” Lucero said tightly.</p><p>“Commander,” Owosekun said, “is there any assistance at all the Zerothians can give us?”</p><p>“They don’t have much of a space fleet, and nothing that can render an assist. I’ve sent a general distress call, but…”</p><p>“Even <em>Discovery</em> couldn’t hold this thing in place with a tractor beam,” Detmer said. She looked at Lucero. “Do they have anything that can knock us off-course? Put us on a descent angle into the ocean?”</p><p>Lucero shook her head again. “The only thing in their orbital or sub-orbital arsenal is tactical nukes and photorps. Even low-yield warheads would blow us up in the atmosphere and poison the air.”</p><p>“Well, the good news is that the feathering approach seems sound,” Nilsson said. “Every computer model seems to support it no matter what variables I plug into it. You weren’t kidding about the versatility of the shield generators: they can reconfigure the shield dynamic for almost any scenario.”</p><p>Detmer felt her body tremble as if struck by a live power cable, the thought perfectly formed as if an alien intelligence had peeled her skull apart and placed it in her brain with their bare hands. “I just had a thought,” she announced.</p><p>“Share it with the group,” Lucero said.</p><p>“We need the pilot this thing,” she said. “The station. We need to dead-stick it.”</p><p>Lucero squinted and shook her head. “I’m…I’m really not following.”</p><p>“We are treating this station like a pilot that’s bailed out of his plane—using the shields to make, basically, a parachute to slow our descent. What we should be doing is treating this station like <em>it is</em> the plane, and we just lost engines.”</p><p>“Engines and antigravs,” Lucero corrected.</p><p>“No!” Detmer waved animatedly. “You’re thinking too recent. I’m talking atmospheric craft in the days before antigravity systems were developed. Back when pilots used airfoils. When they lost power, they could still glide—pilots called it a ‘dead stick landing.’ They had velocity, which meant they had air over the control surfaces of their wings and rudder, which means they still had lift and steering. They could use that lift to soft-land the craft. It’s a basic physical principle of flight. Anything with wings can do it. They even managed to glide those massive eco-killer transportation planes in cases of extreme engine failure.  We can do the same thing: control where this goes down. We can ditch her in the drink—in the ocean. What’s better, we’ll bleed off so much energy we won’t need to worry about the feathering.”</p><p>Lucero blinked. “It sounds like…we’d need <em>wings,</em>” she said dully.</p><p>“Not necessarily,” Nilsson said, her voice ramping up with excitement. “We can use the shields to configure one, the same as we were going to use it to create drag.”</p><p>“But controls…” Owosekun said.</p><p>“Same,” Detmer said. “We just reconfigure the shields to give us those dynamics. We can do that, right?” She looked at Nilsson. “Can we do that?”</p><p>“It’s a very complex model. It’d be really difficulty to calculate…”</p><p>“Not if you use the main computer,” Lucero said excitedly. “It’s algorithmic abilities are some of the best I’ve ever seen. If you give it the parameters it needs, it can come up with the algorithms to adapt and configure the shape you need.” She took a shuddering breath. “Jesus, we can do this…”</p><p>“We’ll need control inputs,” Owosekun. “We don’t have any type of helm control here.”</p><p>“How about the sim suite?” Detmer suggested. “Can we use the control inputs of the aircraft simulation to send commands to the shield computer?”</p><p>“Yes!” Lucero exclaimed, then gathered herself. “I mean, we can. We can have the main computer translate the inputs into the shield algorithm. So when Lieutenant Detmer pushes the…” she paused, gesturing vaguely, “…touchpad? Or trackball…”</p><p>“You have no idea how an aircraft works, do you?” Detmer asked disappointedly. Lucero gave her sheepish shrug. “It’s got a joystick and pedals—ah, screw it, Johanna I’ll just sync it with you.”</p><p>“I can handle the interface programming,” EunLim said, then swung her enormous head to face Nilsson. “That frees you up to implement the algorithm.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Nilsson smiled.</p><p>“Will I be able to feed the navigational data to Keyla’s suite?” Owosekun asked</p><p>Lucero shook her head. “No, the visual is self-contained simulations. But we can transmit it to a data pad…”</p><p>I have a better idea,” Detmer said and keyed a seventeen-digit number into Owosekun’s console. “It’s the prefix code for my ocular/cranial implant. I use it when I have to adjust or reconfigure it.” She tapped the metal that encircled her eye. “Owo can use it send the data directly into my vision. Better than a HUD.”</p><p>Suddenly and alarm squealed, and the station seemed to shift on its axis. “And that’s the gravity well,” Lucero said ruefully. She checked a read out. “Dammit! The core’s overheating faster now that it’s fighting gravity. Controls are fused.”</p><p>“Can it be vented manually?” EunLim asked.</p><p>“Yes, but from main engineering,” Lucero said, scanning the information on her screen. “Which is currently about seventy-four degrees Celsius. And we need someone stationed there to vent on a regular basis. Any of us will suffer heat exhaustion in minutes, and the Zerothians were never big on environmental suits. No matter how many times I told them…I even offered to get a donation of suits from the <em>Enterprise</em>—adjusted to fit the Zerothian physique…”</p><p>She dropped off as Linus strode toward the door. He had stripped off his Starfleet uniform and wore only his blue compression shorts with the <em>Discovery</em> delta on them. His chest scales caught the lights and shimmered in a rainbow pattern, and his foot-talons clicked on the floor.</p><p>Lucero stared at him a minute then turned to Owosekun. “Why is there a naked lizard on the bridge?”</p><p>“I’m heading to engineering,” Linus explained avuncularly. “I’ll manage the venting, don’t worry.” He grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. “I’m ectothermic.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Hell For Leather</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>ATTENTION—ATTENTION—ATTENTION—THE PLANETARY SAFETY AND SECURITY ADMINISTRATION HAS ISSUED A <span class="u">CRITICAL WARNING</span> FOR ALL CITIZENS OF LUNDHEATON CITY AND ENVIRONS. ALL RESIDENTS SHOULD EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY!!! AN ORBITAL THREAT HAS BEEN DETECTED AND IS PROJECTED TO IMPACT LUNDHEATON CITY WITHIN THE HOUR. ALL RESIDENTS SHOULD PROCEED QUICKLY AND IN AN ORDERLY FASHION TO THE NEAREST EMERGENCY EVACUATION TRANSPORTER PADS. IF THERE ARE NO EVACUATION OFFICES WITHIN A ONE-KILOMETER RADIUS, RESIDENTS SHOULD SELF-EVACUATE USING ATMOSPHERIC TRANSPORTATION. THIS IS NOT A TEST—THIS IS NOT A TEST—THIS IS NOT A TEST</p><p>The most glaring difference between Hazarian Station’s Operations Center and a traditional Starfleet bridge was the lack of a command chair, and Lucero was definitely feeling that absence right now. If nothing else she could have dug her fingers into the arms as the pressure bore down on her like a wine press. Instead she had to make do with a master systems console that stood like a podium in the center of the room, forcing her to stand, but preventing her from being able to pace and burn off nervous energy.</p><p> To her ten o’clock, Nilsson and the Osnullus crewman worked at their long bank of computers. Scattered wisps of blonde hair had come loose from where Nilsson had tied them back, forming a glittering corona around her face. At her one o’clock, the cool-headed Owosekun was monitoring their descent and projecting their path on the transparent aluminum skin of the three massive viewports at the fore end of the ops center. The planet had long since grown and swallowed the viewports, and now displayed the eerie play of light across the thin clouds of Hazarian Prime’s mesosphere.</p><p>“Entering troposphere in approximately three minutes,” Owosekun reported.</p><p>“And that’s where the real fun begins,” Lucero said tightly. The stratosphere that they currently plummeted through was too high and the atmosphere to thin for the shields in any configuration to do any good against their velocity. Only when they got to the relatively lower altitudes of troposphere—close enough for the planet’s gravity to hold onto the atmosphere—could they use that atmosphere to their advantage.</p><p>And by that time they’d practically be on the ground, relatively speaking.</p><p>Lucero reached out for the comm switch, then realized to her great frustration that she’d walked away from the systems console in a fit of nervous energy. She gritted her teeth and strode over to it, slapping the comm switch with probably more force than was necessary. “Lieutenant Detmer, are you set up?”</p><p>
  <em>“Aye captain. Standing by.”</em>
</p><p>“All right, Owosekun will patch the feed through to your cranial implant in a few. Lieutenant Linus, are the vents functional?”</p><p><em>“Manual overrides functioning normal, Commander. Nice and balmy down here, too.”</em> Lucero grinned at the thought of him lazing at the control panel. She was finding that she liked these <em>Discovery</em> crew members more than she expected, and she missed the camaraderie that serving aboard a starship—a thin roll of metal in the Universe—more than she’d ever allowed.   </p><p>“Well, just don’t fall asleep down there.”</p><p>“Keyla,” Owosekun called out, “I’m ready for the interface.”</p><p>
  <em>“Stand by…”</em>
</p><p>********</p><p>Detmer jogged in place in the sim suite, then stretched, worked the kinks and the cracks out of her lanky frame, and slid into the simulated Messerschmitt cockpit. She strapped herself into the seat, then pulled her leather pilot’ helmet over her hair. If she was going to do this thing, she was going to do it right.</p><p>“Okay, go Owo,” she said. A moment later she saw a tunnel of indistinct colors and shapes encroach on her vision, as if she’d stood up too fast and the blood couldn’t reach her brain. Then a flash seemed to bisect her brain. She winced against the sudden pain and took a few breaths until it passed. Now she saw the rolling atmosphere of Zerothian Prime as if it hung before her in the suite. Framing it were read outs and informational chyrons. A scarlet ribbon showed the station’s trajectory.</p><p><em>“Are you reading, Detmer?” </em>The lovely Commander Lucero asked.</p><p>“Oh, I’ve got it,” she assured her. “Ready to take the helm on your orders.” She pulled the goggles over her eyes and took a deep breath. A sudden wave of giddiness washed over her.</p><p>“I’m gonna fly a starbase,” she giggled.</p><p> </p><p>********</p><p>The troposphere hit them so hard that for a single, soul-extinguishing nanosecond as she was thrown to the deckplates, Lucero thought they’d overestimated their trajectory and had struck the planet. Hands shaking, she struggled to get up. Alarms screeched around her, and the atmosphere burned against their shields, flaring a vivid orange beyond the viewports, filling the interior of Ops harsh, caustic light. She weaved drunkenly as she tried to rise. Something was wrong with the gravity.</p><p>“Status!” she called out. One of the first things she’d learned about command was that when you were unsure of your situation or just needed to play for time, the best thing to do was ask for a status report.</p><p>“We just entered the troposphere!” Owosekun answered from where the shuffled, trying to keep her balance while she held her console with a death-grip.</p><p>“Shields?” she turned to Nilsson and EunLim were helping each other up.</p><p>“It looks….” EunLim cocked her head at the display before her. “Heat shields holding, but we’re falling at terminal velocity!”</p><p>“Seven minutes to impact!” Owosekun reported.</p><p>“Damn it,” she muttered. She understood then the problem with the gravity—the station was in freefall, and the artificial gravity was fighting a two-front battle with Zerothian Prime’s natural gravity and the station’s internal dampeners. She managed to key her comm panel. “Detmer! What’s happening?”</p><p>
  <em>“We’re in a stall, Commander! We’ve got no lift!”</em>
</p><p>“But the algorithm…” Nilsson protected.</p><p>
  <em>“Johanna, it’s not the shape of the wing. Our angle is wrong, and we’ve got a separated flow over the airfoil!”</em>
</p><p>“Ooo! Fluid dynamics!” Nilsson enthused, “I get that! Hold on…” she began madly working at her console.</p><p>“Six minutes!” Owosekun counted down.</p><p>Beyond her, across the view ports screamed blood red letters: IMPACT IMMINENT.</p><p>Lucero tried to remember one of Chris Pike’s prayers. She didn’t have anything else to try.</p><p> </p><p>********</p><p>“Move, you pig,” Detmer grunted as she struggled against the stick. “Goddamn it, <em>move!</em>” The control stick might as well have been concrete-encased rebar. Through her cranial implant—everywhere she looked, whichever way she turned her head—she saw the computer graphic of the station’s vertical drop and the flashing red impact point in the city.</p><p>And then the world shifted around her, and she <em>knew!</em></p><p>Detmer had tried to describe the sensation, but the closet she could ever get was to liken it to driving a surface vehicle over ice and the moment the wheels gained purchase. Suddenly, the massive, dead, dumb object around you became a vital, living thing and you had the control of it in your hands.</p><p>Her hands tightened on the stick and she pulled back against tight, heavy, glorious resistance and saw the station’s trajectory shift on the graphic in her vision. She laughed despite herself. “Oh, you handle like a cow, but <em>I love you!</em>”</p><p>In her vision the trajectory line looped further over Lundheaton City center.</p><p> </p><p>********</p><p>“We’re changing course!”</p><p>Lucero already suspected as much when the crazy gravity suddenly stabilized into something more consistent, though still tricky—it was like keeping her balance on top of a moving vehicle.</p><p>“Commander,” Owosekun reported. “we’re circling Lundheaton City.”</p><p>“Detmer,” Lucero said over the comm, “we need to be over water!”</p><p>
  <em>“Copy that, sir, but we need to bleed off the excess energy of our freefall otherwise we’ll be moving too fast by the time we hit the water.”</em>
</p><p>“Keyla, I’m plotting a course that’ll take us into the sea via the scenic route,” Owosekun said with a smile, her fingers dancing over the touchscreen.</p><p>
  <em>“Well, take your time. This is the first time I’ve dead-sticked since I was eighteen.”</em>
</p><p>“I’d like it if you’d use some alacrity, Lieutenant,” Lucero said reproachfully. “Let’s not taunt the laws of physics any more than we need to.” Abruptly the station shuddered and wobbled.</p><p><em>“Something pushed us off course!”</em> Detmer reported, then another channel crackled.</p><p><em>“Reactor venting complete, Commander. Next scheduled venting should be in ten to twelve minutes,” </em>Linus’s hearty voice rang out.</p><p>“Copy, Linus,” Lucero said. “Detmer, can you compensate?”</p><p>
  <em>“Already did.”</em>
</p><p>Lucero smiled in spite of herself.</p><p>********</p><p>The cityscape came at them with incredible, speed, but Detmer had a feel for the…craft? Stationship?—and didn’t sweat it. Owo’s amended glidepath took her on a northernly route through the great canyons of the city’s skyscrapers, and they slid into Detmer’s peripheral vision like she was a pilot fish weaving between the teeth of a shark.</p><p>The glittering windows of the city spires gradually grew lower, and eventually tapered off into great, angular slabs of suburban residence blocks branded into the ground. Beyond them, on the horizon, the perfect blue line of the ocean. It rolled toward her with the inexorability of a waiting lover.</p><p>“I’m flying this thing,” Detmer whispered as she pulled on the stick and leaned into the pedals, following Owo’s plot.</p><p>“I’m flying.”</p><p> </p><p>********</p><p>Repassa’s mother had gathered her up and was pulling her up the stairs to the roof of their building.</p><p>“There’s an emergency!” She exclaimed as she wrangled Repassa along with her sister Kassep and little brother Hel. “We need to get to shelter!”</p><p>“The roof isn’t very good shelter,” Repassa said. She’d recently reached the age where she found her parents and anything the said purely insufferable, and these seemed like the usual adult doublespeak.</p><p>“We need to be seen by the rescue shuttles! We don’t have much time!” She burst through the doorway that led to the long, flat rooftop deck, and Repassa saw that her mother hadn’t been the only one with this idea. Hundreds of other residents were there as well.</p><p>“Keep your eyes out for the shuttles,” her mother ordered them.</p><p>Repassa scanned the clear, orange sky and settled on a distant shape, growing larger.</p><p>“Mama!” she said, suddenly terrified. “<em>Mama!”</em></p><p>Her mother pulled her close and wrapped her other arms around Kassep and Hel, who were staring in silent shock at the massive shape that seemed to reach out of the sky like a fist to crush them. “I love you, baby,” her mother said, and Repassa began to weep.</p><p>The crowd suddenly let out a cacophonous exclamation—something confused and rapturous, and relieved—and Repassa watched as the massive shape—some sort of building in the sky—turned like an airplane to avoid their building. It coasted over the rooftop deck with a loud <em>woosh</em> and a gust of wind.</p><p>Repassa spun to watch as it glided toward the sea. “It missed us,” she said and looked up at her mom. “Are we safe now, Mama?”</p><p>Her mother smiled through tears. “I think so, honey. I think we’re safe.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Rescue or Recovery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Approaching Zerothian system, sir!” Ensign Miles reported with a slight gulp.</p><p>“Drop us out of warp not more than one AU from Prime,” Number One answered for him. “Keep us on the far side—that sun is extremely active.”</p><p>Christopher Pike didn’t take his eyes off the panel on the arm of his command chair, which, right now listed the inventory of Planetary Recovery Equipment—or PRE in Starfleet’s jargon—he could dedicate to the ruined world they rushed to meet. It wasn’t enough—not nearly enough—to stave off destruction on this scale, but if used judiciously it might be able to save a heavy percentage of the survivors of the initial calamity when their biosphere began to die. That would buy them time for the evacuation efforts. Pike saw long, exhausting days ahead of his crew, and soul-draining senior staff meetings for himself in which he made decisions that would surely mean the deaths of countless Zerothians. He wondered again, how it was that the Federation—as enlightened as it was—could equip its starships with the means to singlehandedly end life on a planet but not save it.</p><p>“Hailing the planet,” Ensign Lone, the comms officer reported.</p><p>“No,” Pike answered, looking up at the warp field on the viewscreen. “Their communications net will overloaded after…an event like this. Go to passive monitoring and let’s get a sense of the situation that way.”</p><p>“Aye captain."</p><p>“There may no longer be a government with whom to communicate,” Number One observed dispassionately, and Pike gave her a strained look.</p><p>“You’re right. We’ll have to ascertain who to coordinate with for relief efforts.”</p><p>There was a slight jarring sensation as the <em>Enterprise</em> dropped into normal space. On the viewscreen the warp-tunnel was replaced by ordinary stars once again, and the colorful orb of Zerothian Prime. To Pike she looked as fragile as a balloon drifting through a machine shop.</p><p>“Scanning,” Spock said, hunching over the hood of his station.</p><p>“Time if of the essence, Mister Spock,” Pike said tightly. “We don’t need a detailed analysis, just the extent of the damage as of this moment.”</p><p>Spock turned to face him. “Understood, Captain. That is what perplexes me: there is no sign of planetary damage. No disruption to the atmosphere, no ejecta matter, no—”</p><p>Pike cut him off. “How is that possible? They just suffered a massive impact to their terrestrial crust. The seismic shockwaves alone—”</p><p>“Science officer’s analysis confirmed,” Number One said, scanning her own readout. She looked up. “Chris, there’s nothing.”</p><p>Pike felt light-headed, as if reality were slipping away around him. “Mr. Lone, what’s the chatter on the ‘net.”</p><p>Lone screwed the earpiece further into his ear and squinted in concentration. “Heavy volume of traffic…a lot of government national emergency messages…but also…” he looked up with an astonished expression. “It…it sounds like celebration, captain.”</p><p>“Celebration?” Number One repeated dully.</p><p>“Captain, I have located Hazarian Station,” Spock reported with an edge to his voice that could almost be mistaken for excitement. “It is…still aloft, sir.”</p><p>“How is that possible? It should have hit the surface seven minutes ago.”</p><p>“Unclear,” Spock reported, “but it…it appears to be changing course.”</p><p>“What?” Number One asked incredulously.</p><p>“It seems to be under manual control.” Spock looked up from the science hood. “It is decelerating and on a course for the ocean.”</p><p>Pike looked at Number One, who was uncharacteristically bemused. Then the realization sunk in.</p><p>“She did it,” he said. “Lynne did it.” He clenched a fist in celebration.</p><p>“But how can you fly a starbase?” Lieutenant Park asked no one in particular.</p><p>“Captain,” Spock reported, “I am reading a highly unusual power signature coming from the station. They are utilizing their full power reserves, but I do not read any active antigravity devices or thrusters.”</p><p>“Then how are they staying in the air?” Pike asked.</p><p>“The station does seem to be descending, but its course appears to be a glidepath and not a direct descent. I would theorize that they have somehow reconfigured their shields to create the effect of an airfoil.”</p><p>“Inventive,” Number One said with restrained admiration.</p><p>Pike looked from Number One to Spock. “Is that possible?” </p><p>Spock answered. “Never in practice. Though the concept of manipulating the shape of a starship’s shields in order to provide surface lift has been theorized, the highly-specific directional nature of starship-mounted shield emitters typically makes it impossible to achieve quite that level of…fungibility in the shield configuration. The station’s own emitters much be significantly more versatile.”</p><p>Pike stood up, suddenly aware of the adrenaline that electrified his movements. His emotions had just run from one end of the spectrum to the other and he wanted to climb out of his skin.</p><p>“Number One, tell the shuttlebay to ready a class-three shuttlecraft. Mister Spock, can you estimate a landing site?”</p><p>“I can certainly do so within the scope of a shuttlecraft’s effective radius.”</p><p>Pike nodded. “Then we’re going down there.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Reentry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>“Acknowledged, Hazarian Station. We have Environmental Containment and Repair teams standing by to clean up the bay.”</em> the comms officer at the Office of Emergency Management said. <em>“Open your coolant vents once you touch down to prevent a meltdown.”</em></p><p>“Will do, OEM,” Lucero said as she watched the view of the ocean speeding beneath them.  “Linus, did you follow that? Will you be able to get out of there?”</p><p>
  <em>“Affirmative, Commander. The blast seals are watertight—at least enough for me to get out.”</em>
</p><p>“I’m sending you an evacuation route topside. Hate to leave you down there.”</p><p>
  <em>“Evac route received. See you soon.”</em>
</p><p>The water rushed toward them. “Bring internal stabilizers to full, Ensign EunLim.”</p><p>“Yes sir.”</p><p><em>“I’m locking down my controls,” </em>Detmer announced over the comm system. <em>“Touchdown in ninety seconds! I’ll meet you all topside.”</em></p><p>“Good work, Detmer, see you in the sunlight.” Lucero looked over at Nilsson. “Can we maintain the airfoil shape?”</p><p>“There’s no reason we shouldn’t,” she answered.</p><p>“All right,” Lucero grabbed both sides of the Systems console. “Everyone brace for impact…”</p><p>In the end, it was actually rather anti-climactic. The shields split the water before the great, vast bulk of the station touched down, and by the time they cut out, the sheer weight of the station kept it more or less stable. Its lower hull scraped a great furrow into the floor of the bay and buried itself there, leaving the station standing at a slight angle up through the water with its top observation deck standing above the waves. The water around it boiled and hissed with the superheated temperatures of the reactor, which was currently flooding.</p><p>Less than two minutes after they touched down, Lucero led her crew out through the emergency escape hatch on the observation deck and into the warm afternoon daylight.</p><p>“I don’t believe it,” Owosekun laughed, shielding her eyes from the sun and looking around.</p><p>“What? That you’re standing in the roof of space station stuck in the middle of a bay?” Lucero said with a smile. “You didn’t know that’s where you’d end up when you started your day?”</p><p>“I hope I don’t burn,” Nilsson said.</p><p>“You will,” EunLim assured her. “You don’t have the complexion for sunlight.”</p><p>“Hey!” Someone called from the far end of the deck. Lucero squinted through the brightness and saw Detmer and the still-unclothed Linus walked toward them from a far side access hatch. The pilot carried a leather object of some sort as well as a datapad, and her strawberry-blonde hair fluttered in the breeze like the heroine from a romance movie. “Check out who I found along the way,” she said and cocked a thumb at Linus.</p><p>“Vents open to the sea, Commander,” Linus reported. “The core temperature should be well below critical temperature.”</p><p>Lucero smiled and nodded. “Nice to hear, Lieutenant. And it’s good you’re dressed appropriate to the circumstances.”</p><p>“The weather’s lovely,” he said.</p><p>“Sure is,” she answered.</p><p>“Know what we need?” Detmer said, holding up the datapad. It was presently keyed to Entertainment Mode. “A beach party.”</p><p>“You just had that with you?” EunLim asked.</p><p>“Um, yeah.”</p><p>Lucero held up her palms in a <em>why not</em> gesture. “Well, we just successfully landed an outer space building. I’d say a beach party is in order.”</p><p>“Awesome!” Detmer said, keying the datapad and resting it on a sensor vane. A moment later, a twangy, bubbly song played.</p><p>“Classical music?” Owosekun asked.</p><p>“Best music to dance to,” Detmer said as she moved hips to the rhythm.</p><p>“Who is this?” Lucero asked.</p><p>“It’s a twentieth century Earth band that shares a name with a tactical bomber aircraft or a hairstyle of excessive height and mass,” Linus answered.</p><p>“It seemed appropriate for the occasion to cue up the B-52s,” Detmer explained.</p><p>“Catchy,” Lucero admitted, nodding along with the song.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Wanna be the ruler of the galaxy?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wanna be the king of the Universe?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Let’s meet and have a baby now!</em>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>And then, as the day’s stress and anxiety and despair gave way to euphoria they all danced. They basked in the warm light of the sun, inhaled the sweet, salty ocean breeze, and moved to the music. Nilsson and Owosekun synchronized their movements, while EunLim flailed in an Osnullian cultural dance step, while Linus tried some 20<sup>th</sup> century moves he’d recently picked up called “the robot” and “the moonwalk” (though they resembled neither).</p><p>Lucero waited until the rest of the crew’s attention was focused elsewhere before pulling Lieutenant Detmer in close and kissing her hard. It wasn’t the kind of thing a captain should do, she knew, but god, the woman was<em> beautiful!</em></p><p> </p><p>********</p><p>The shuttlecraft <em>Copernicus</em> banked and circled the grey-black spire that pointed skyward from the sea. “I have visual on the crew,” Spock reported and pointed through the viewport at the figures on the station’s top deck.</p><p>“Thank you, Mister Spock. Now let’s take this thing in pick them up before that thing shifts and sends them in the water.”</p><p>“It would be most disappointing to manually navigate a falling starbase to a safe landing only to then drown,” Spock observed.</p><p>“Nice to see you have sense of the ironic, Spock.”</p><p>“Captain,” Spock asked, cocking his head. “Are they…dancing?”</p><p>Pike twisted in his seat and looked out the starboard viewport. Yes, they were indeed dancing. The shuttle was close enough that he could recognize Lynne Lucero dancing with rest, and then dipping a red-haired female officer and kissing her flamboyantly in an imitation of the famous photo of the soldier kissing the nurse on V-E Day.</p><p><em>I guess you earned it, Lynne, </em>he thought with a smile. “Mister Spock, maybe you should circle a few more times.”</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>“Just do it, Spock.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Goodbyes and Hellos</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’ll say this: it’s a hell of a view,” Lucero said and shook her head in mild awe. The observation deck of the Zerothian Emergency Management Station was a transparent sphere that protruded from the station’s central core on a narrow spoke. Once she got over how much it resembled Hazarian Station, she could let go of her apprehension and simply be overwhelmed by the sight of the northern hemisphere, and beyond it the <em>Enterprise</em>’s running lights glittering against the darkness of space.</p>
<p>“That it is, Captain,” Pike said. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to meet your crew.”</p>
<p>“<em>Discovery</em>’s crew, you mean,” she corrected. “And I’m sorry, too. They were a remarkable group.”</p>
<p>The <em>Discovery</em> crewmembers had stayed long enough to attend the thanksgiving ceremony, which had involved a state dinner and several long speeches by Zerothian leaders that basically amounted to ‘Thanks Starfleet!’ Lucero hadn’t seen much of them but did get to say goodbye as they beamed to their transport. She’d wanted to tell them what they had meant to her in the scant time together. How they’d reminded her of her own abilities, and the fact that she was, in fact, more than the sum of one disastrous mission.</p>
<p>But, as with so many things, a commanding officer doesn’t have the luxury of spilling their guts, so instead she’d been being appropriately reserved and professional as she thanked each of them personally, pausing when she got to Detmer. “Lieutenant,” she said, “I hope you never serve on my ship.”</p>
<p>Detmer cocked an eyebrow, knowingly. Owosekun had rolled her eyes.</p>
<p>“They were your crew,” Pike corrected her gently. “Maybe they were on loan, but they were yours. They looked to you for leadership, and you gave them that.”</p>
<p>Lucero felt her cheeks growing warm. “They could have left. I told them to evacuate. But instead they chose to stay, and because of that…”</p>
<p>“Five billion people are still alive,” Pike finished. “Because you took their raw talent and harnessed it. That’s what a captain does.”</p>
<p>Lucero felt her eyes filling. “Sir, I’m sorry. I should have answered—”</p>
<p>“Stop,” Pike shook his head. “Lynne, you don’t have to apologize for anything. Captains don’t do that. It demoralizes the crew.”</p>
<p>Lucero shrugged. “Well, since I’m a Commander…”</p>
<p>“Not for much longer,” Pike said with a twinkle in his eye. “Starfleet has chosen to revisit that particular demotion in light of the fact that you basically saved a planet from extinction.”</p>
<p>Lucero took a shuddering breath and blinked away tears. “Captain…”</p>
<p>“That’s your rank,” he smiled. “At least after a short ceremony later this afternoon.”</p>
<p>“Why do I get the feeling you had something to do with that?”</p>
<p>He shrugged modestly. “I may have…pointed out the relevant facts to them.”</p>
<p>She blurted out a laugh. “Well, thank you, Cap…Chris.”</p>
<p>“Lynne,” he said with the effortlessly paternal gravity only he could manage, “Starfleet is better having you at the helm of a ship, than serving penance for something that wasn’t your fault.” He looked out the observation bay. “And speaking of ships…”</p>
<p>It took Lucero a moment to zero in on what he was looking at, but when she did it hit her like a hammer blow.</p>
<p>The disc-like shape of the <em>Magee-</em>class research vessel caught the sunlight off Zerothian Prime’s terminator, accentuating the sleek lines of its built-in warp nacelles. It dipped at it approached the station, and Lucero gasped as she read the registry: <em>USS Cabot NCC-0325</em>.</p>
<p>“They said she was lost,” Lucero gasped. “At the tribunal they said…”</p>
<p>“She was officially designated as lost when her structural integrity failed,” Pike explained. “But her superstructure was relatively intact. Some enterprising engineer at San Francisco Yards had been pitching an innovative plan for the past few years for how to gut a starship and rebuild the interior through modular elements. The <em>Cabot</em> gave him the opportunity to prove it.” Pike smiled. “He’s a big fan of yours, too. You made his career.”</p>
<p>“And you may have had something to do with that, too?”</p>
<p>Pike shook his head. “Nope. Starfleet green-lit that one all on their own. And she’s here to pick up her captain.”</p>
<p>Lucero used her sleeve to wipe away the tears she’d failed at staving off. “Thank you,” she said.</p>
<p>“Lynne,” Pike said seriously. “It’s my honor. Truly.” He looked out at the graceful little ship. “You’ll have to assemble your crew. Maybe you can poach a few from <em>Discovery.</em>” He cocked his head. “You may want to pass on the red-haired one,” he said with a wink.</p>
<p>She let out a laugh and pressed her face to the viewport like a little kid. She turned her head to get the best view possible of the ship. Her ship.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Epilogue</p>
<p>
  <em>One year later</em>
</p>
<p>“All right, that’s a wrap on the Odysses Nebula,” Lucero announced with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Excellent work, everyone. We mapped the hell out of that nebula.”</p>
<p>A ripple of laughter ran through the small bridge. “Course, Captain?” asked her Executive Officer, a compact paleogeologist named Steven Hsia who stood behind her at the science station.</p>
<p>“Take us to Laurentian System. We’ll link up with the Hartman Science Task Force there, and see if we can solve their little exobiological mystery for them. I mean, there has to some reason people keep turning inside out when the beam to the moon’s surface, right?”</p>
<p>“Aye sir,” smiled her helmsman, Ensign Pimchanok, a startlingly beautiful young woman who’d managed in her few weeks aboard the <em>Cabot</em> to inadvertently break the hearts of a half dozen of her colleagues, and a few visiting scientists as well. “Taking us to warp.”</p>
<p>“Mister Hsia, implement standard warp-out protocols.”</p>
<p>Hsia nodded. “Sensors to full. Setting to Omni-directional.”</p>
<p>Pimchanok swiveled in her seat. “Sir, may I ask…what are we looking for when we implement this protocol?”</p>
<p>The bridge was suddenly very still, acknowledging that an unspoken protocol had been breeched: no one <em>ever</em> asked the captain what they were supposed to be looking for when they went to warp. It was assumed she’d tell them when they found it.</p>
<p>“A ship, Ensign,” Lucero said with a sad smile. “A ship with a remarkable crew.”</p>
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